


Papa Bear and the Red Skull Menace

by 221Charcoal



Category: Captain America (Movies), Hogan's Heroes (TV 1965)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Burning the Geneva Convention, Gen, Human Experimentation, Hydra (Marvel), Mild Language, Nazi Germany, Period-Typical Racism, Prisoner of War, Super Soldier Serum (Marvel), Unethical Experimentation, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221Charcoal/pseuds/221Charcoal
Summary: In which the Geneva Convention is torn up and burned and superheroes become more than just a propaganda stunt.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Papa Bear and the Red Skull Menace

" _Raus, raus_ , everbody _raus_! _Mach schnell_ , everybody _raus_!"

James Kinchloe groaned awake. He'd gotten very little sleep, and a surprise inspection was the last thing that he had wanted when he'd gone to lie down on the lumpy, hard cot.

"Ah shaddup, Schultzy!" Newkirk snarled, voice still husky and raw from sleep. "Some of us are trying to sleep, y'know."

"Yeah! Come back in a few hours," Carter added from the bunk beneath him.

Amen to that, brother, Kinchloe thought to himself, rolling over and covering his head.

The rest of the barrack's inhabitants joined in, moaning and whining.

A pillow landed on Schultz's helmet and the German waved it away, huffing in frustration. "Stop it! Stop it! We have a visitor. You're all to line up outside! Please! Don't make me look bad. Not this time!"

The moaning continued.

Colonel Hogan stepped out of his personal quarters, yawning, and frowned at the commotion - still half asleep himself. "What's going on out here?" The question was firm and inquisitive, his expression genuinely curious. "Schultz, we had a surprise inspection three days ago. Don't tell me the Kommandant scheduled another one so soon."

Schultz relaxed once the prisoners' superior officer entered the room. "Oh, Colonel Hogan, thank goodness. Please, tell your men to get up. We have a very, very important visitor and the _Kommandant_ would like very much to impress him."

The Colonel frowned and, thumbs tucked in the waistband of his slacks, wandered over to the partially open door, peeking out to look around.

"Who's the visitor, Schultz?" Carter asked, sitting up as he tossed his blanket aside.

"Well, he. . ." The German snapped his mouth shut. He chuckled knowingly and waved a finger. "No, no. You won't get it out of me this time. I know nothing. Nothing! All I know is that he's here to inspect the prisoners. So that means up. Now _raus_!"

Hogan glanced over his shoulder back into the barracks with a frown. "Alright men, you heard the Sergeant. Up and at 'em."

Sighing, Kinch pushed his blanket away. He grabbed his knit cap and pulled it over his head. Pushing his feet out over the edge of the bunk, he dropped to the floor. Joining the bustling crowd of POWs making their way out the door, he fell quietly to the back.

Carter stepped in beside him, fixing his leather flight jacket. "Who do you think it is?"

Kinch shrugged. "I don't know. It must be someone important enough not to need to call ahead. Klink hasn't been fretting in his office like he usually does before a visit."

The brunette's eyes widened as a thought popped into his head. "Do you think it's the Fuhrer?"

Sergeant Kinchloe rolled his eyes, before responding, "Carter, if it were the Fuhrer, why on Earth would he visit Stalag 13? And why, beyond that, would he do it in the middle of the night?"

Carter opened his mouth to respond, paused, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again. They stepped into place in the front row of the line, side by side, and Carter asked sheepishly, "Probably not the Fuhrer, then, huh?"

Kinch shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep warm. "No Carter. I doubt it's the Fuhrer."

Newkirk leaned forward so he could see them both. "Ten pounds says it's Major Hochstetter on Gestapo business."

LeBeau's lip curled as he rubbed his hands together, blowing into the space between them. "I sure hope not. You know, that man is incorrigible."

"Oi, Kinch. In the bettin’ mood, mate?" Newkirk asked, nudging the taller man's shoulder.

The Sergeant shook his head, laughing at his friends quietly. He turned his gaze away from the conversation and glanced up at the Kommandant's office, wondering who their mysterious guest really was.

As if on cue, the door to the building slammed open and three men emerged. At the front, stormed Major Hochstetter of the Gestapo - screaming, shouting, and spitting as per usual. Behind him, a man in civilian's clothes causally descended the steps, ignoring the pestering small talk of the Kommandant, Colonel Wilhelm Klink.

Schultz quickly tried to shush the POWs, roaring, "Quiet!" and " _Sei still_!" to no avail. Shoulders drooping, he leaned over to Colonel Hogan and pleaded quietly for him to make them stop. Hogan laughed, called to his men, and the ranks went still.

"I told you it'd be Hochstetter," Newkirk mumbled to the others as the Major stormed past.

Le'Beau tskked, watching the Major with distaste. " _Saluad_. Can't that man give us one week of peace?"

Kinch's gaze was elsewhere. As the civilian neared, he was able to better discern his features. He was a shorter man, balding, with glasses and aged features. He wore a dark, pinstripe suit and on the lapel: a pin. The staff sergeant frowned. He'd expected a swastika, but as the man drew closer, he noticed that it was something else. An octopus?

Without stopping to be introduced, the man strode up to Colonel Hogan at the head of the line. "Are you the senior officer?" He snapped in accented, but surprisingly good English.

"Colonel Hogan," the POW answered, fingers still looped through his belt. "And you are?"

"My name is inconsequential. Are these your men?"

Hogan raised an eyebrow, glancing down the two rows of shivering soldiers. "Yes."

"All of your men?"

The colonel glanced down the row and Kinch, raising a hand to scratch his mustache and hide the gesture, offered him a half nod. No one was down in the tunnels. Not tonight.

"Yes."

"Good." The man whirled, his overcoat billowing as he began to make his way down the line of faces. Now and then he'd stop and grab a man's chin or wrench his face to one side with a gloved hand.

Kinch's lip twitched at the demeaning treatment.

"It's like he's checking livestock," Carter commented in a disturbed hiss.

"Blooming psychopath is what he is," Newkirk added a little louder from behind.

Finally, the civilian found something that pleased him and he gestured to a prisoner, Corporal Taylor. "Him."

Two guards stepped forward to pull Taylor from the line. The young man stiffened in surprise, digging his heels into the dirt. Then he fought, writhing, afraid and unsure of what was happening.

Hogan stepped out of the line. "Hey! Now hold on a minute. What do you think you're-"

With a flick of the civilian's wrist, another guard in black stepped forward to push Hogan back into place as he continued down the line. He picked out three more men before he reached the heroes.

Kinch and the others eyed the man warily. He stopped in front of Le'Beau first, examining him quietly before moving on to Carter. A relieved sigh escaped the short Frenchman's lips and he relaxed.

Carter cringed slightly as the man grabbed his chin and inspected him with narrowed eyes. He gulped, Adam's apple bobbing, and forced a smile.

"This one," the man snapped.

Kinch jolted forward as his friend was grabbed roughly and dragged from the line. "Now wait a minute, you can't just-" He was silenced with a rifle butt to the gut. Doubled over, he hissed in pain. At the end of the line, Hogan cried out in disbelief - listing off the rights that had been violated in the Geneva code.

Newkirk quickly grabbed Kinchloe's shoulder, kneeling beside him. "Bloody hell. Kinch, are you alright?" He asked, worry evident in his voice.

The sergeant nodded, waving him off. He glanced up to see the civilian watching him with a mix of disdain and amusement. Kinch's jaw set and he straightened despite the pain. "I'm fine," he mumbled, avoiding the gaze of the civilian and the soldiers.

Newkirk glared at the German and his cronies, keeping a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder.

The civilian watched them for a moment before moving on. Casually, almost dismissively, he called over his shoulder, "Both of them."

Kinch flinched as he was yanked from the line and sent tumbling toward the cluster of separated POWs.

By the time the German had finished weeding people out, the Sergeant was surrounded by a group numbering at least a dozen. A thrum of nervous tension filled the air. Voices overlapped, shouting through the confused din. Bodies writhed against the wall of black clad soldiers. Even Colonel Klink was objecting, much to Hochstetter's annoyment. Le'Beau cried out as the last of his friends were taken and the man beside him held him in place. Others shouted, pressing against the line of Germans standing in their way.

"Load them into the trucks!" Hochstetter snarled loudly. Whirling to jab a finger at Schultz, he added, "Sergeant! Quiet the prisoners!"

The Sergeant's mouth was agape. He didn't know what to do. Who to side with.

"Sergeant!"

His mouth closed in a thin line and he rushed to hold back the angry prisoners.

Wordlessly, the civilian in the pinstripe suit ducked into a staff car.

Kinchloe was stunned and in pain. He barely noticed as he and the others were piled into the back of the truck. His ears were ringing. The engine roared to life. What had just happened? Was this legal? What was going to happen to them? Had the operation been compromised? Where were they being taken?

"What just happened?" Carter asked in a wavering daze.

"No bloody clue, mate," Newkirk replied, stunned himself.

"Are they going to kill us?"

The Englander paled. "No bloody clue, mate," he repeated.

The Stalag's search lights dimmed behind them.

"They can't kill us, right? We're prisoners. It's not like we were trying to escape, right?" Carter was on the verge of hysterics.

Newkirk shook his head, burying his face in his hands.

The whole truck was abuzz with quiet, fearful conversation. There were guards in black at the back. Kinch could see several POWs eyeing the rolling dirt road behind them, contemplating the distance to jump.

"Newkirk! Newkirk," Carter's knees were bouncing in unbridled terror as he hissed. "What if this is about the underground? What if they think-?"

The Englander's head shot up and he roared. "Shut up! Just shut up Andrew! Bloody hell! Just stop, alright?! I don't know!"

Carter fell silent. He shook his head and started to shiver.

Kinch sighed and leaned back against the vibrating curve of the truck's tarp wall. It had all happened so fast. One second they were all in bed. The next, they were standing out in the cold. After that, they were gone. What had happened?

What the hell just happened?


End file.
